


A Matter of Memory

by DarkestSight (Daylight)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Torture, RipFic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-11-29 14:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11442690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daylight/pseuds/DarkestSight
Summary: Rip wakes up to find himself trapped in a cell with no idea how he got there or what happened to his team.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: This story contains psychological torture and there will be some graphic descriptions of injuries and deaths in the second chapter. Also, DO NOT PANIC when you get to the end of this chapter. This story is dark but not that dark. I'm not quite so cruel and there is a reason a certain archive warning wasn't used.
> 
> Set in between Seasons 1 and 2 except Snart never died. Please insert your favourite fix-it here.

The first thing Rip became aware of was the cold, rough surface resting beneath his cheek, its grit biting into his skin, its chill seeping into his bones. He sucked in a deep breath and was overwhelmed by the smell of damp cement.

What...? Where...?

As more awareness came to him, he realized he was stretched out on his front, his head twisted awkwardly to the side. He groaned and tried to shift into a more comfortable position only for his body to protest with a dozen different aches. He groaned again.

Why...? How...?

His eyes felt like they’d been glued shut, but with a great effort, he managed to pries them open and he stared blearily around him.

A gray dimness surrounded him filled with shadows.

He blinked several times but it made little difference, only making the shadows slightly sharper. He thought he could make out a wall a few feet away but that was it. Wherever he was, it was either featureless or too dimly lit to make out any real details. He did know one thing though.

This was definitely not the Waverider.

Scraping his palms against the rough ground, he got his arms underneath him and used them to push himself up to his knees. There was an odd weakness in his limbs, a shakiness he couldn’t explain, and when he sat back, he was hit by a wave of dizziness and nausea.

What the hell had happened to him?

He sat there trying to remember but the memories kept slipping out of his grasp. It was like trying to hold water with his fingers. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. It was hard to even think straight, his minds a hazy muddle of thoughts, but he made an effort to focus, to try and assess his current situation. 

He didn’t know where he was or how he’d got there, but wherever it was, it didn’t seem like a place he wanted to stay for long. He was wearing his usual clothes but his trench coat was missing and the holster attached to his leg was empty. There was no great pain in his head, certainly not the sharp type he’d expect from a blow, so he hadn’t been knocked out. His body ached but there was none of the electrical jitteriness which was a common aftereffect of a laser blast or a stun gun, so he hadn’t been shot. There was an odd taste at the back of his mouth though as well as a sluggishness to his thoughts and a peculiar feeling of detachment like none of this was really real.

Drugged. He’d been drugged. How the hell had he been drugged?

There’d been a fire. He could remember that now. There'd been flames and smoke and loud noises but he couldn’t bring the memory into focus. It felt almost like a dream rather than a memory leaving him with only faint afterimages and the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong. He and the team had been on a mission, hadn’t they? Somewhere in...

Rip’s eyes widened and his head shot up.

The team!

He looked around, eyes trying to penetrate the gloom, but he saw no one.

“Sara?” he croaked out, his voice rough and cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Sara!”

There was no answer.

“Jax?”

Still no answer.

“Ray? Mick? Snart? Martin? Anyone?”

He listened carefully but the only response was his own voice echoing back at him. Despite the unwillingness of his limbs, he forced his way up to his feet doing his best to ignore the way the world reeled around him as he did so.

He had to find the team. If he had been drugged, there was no telling what could have happened to them.

A few frantic steps forward revealed a cement wall. A few steps to the left and the right revealed the same thing. It was only when he turned completely around that he saw the door. He staggered towards it, almost falling. Grasping the doorknob, he turned and pulled.

The door didn’t move.

Rip pulled some more yanking on it with all his strength.

“You didn’t really think it would be unlocked, did you?”

Rip sprang back, head swivelling around as he tried to find the source of the voice.

“But feel free to try opening it as much as you like. I’m not going to stop you.”

The voice seemed to be coming from somewhere above. It was male and had a slight accent but neither the accent nor the voice was familiar to Rip.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “Why have you locked me in here?”

“You sound so surprised,” the voice replied. “Surely you must realize how many enemies you’ve managed to acquire over your illustrious career. You should have expected something like this to happen eventually.”

The man’s mocking tone grated on Rip’s nerves. “So you’re a time pirate then,” he said as he tried once more to locate the source of the voice. “I suppose I have taken care of quite a few of you in my time.” 

There must have been a speaker hidden somewhere in the ceiling and most likely a camera too but all he could see above him was the room’s only light source, a dim bulb that barely lit the place and left shadows in all the corners. 

“Oh, not a pirate,” said the voice. “Quite the opposite in fact.”

At first, Rip didn’t understand what the man was talking about and then a cold realization sank in. “You’re a Time Master.”

“Technically,” the voice drawled. “Considering our entire organization no longer exists, it’s not like any of us can truly claim that title anymore.”

Rip swallowed. All in all he probably would have preferred to have been captured by a time pirate. The other Time Masters, scattered to the wind by the destruction of the Occulus, were something he did his best not to think about. A guilt he’d spent a long time trying to ignore, that he’d buried deep inside of himself began to seep to the surface. 

“Are you going to tell me your name?” he asked.

“Oh, you wouldn’t recognize it,” said the voice. “I was never anyone important, just another captain among many. We passed each other by on occasion but I doubt you would even recognize my face if you saw it. Of course, I know all about you.”

“What do you want with me?” asked Rip, wishing he had a face to focus his gaze on.

“I thought that would be obvious,” said the voice. “Revenge.”

Even though Rip had had a feeling it was coming, the simple word rang through the air like a death knell. 

He needed to get out of there. He scanned the room as much as he could in the dim light but there was little to see. There didn’t seem to be anything in it other than himself. It was basically a concrete box with a reinforced metal door undoubtedly bolted from the other side. It was a prison cell, and from the dank smell of the place, the water marks on the walls, and the rust stains on the door, it was neither a new nor a well-maintained one. The possibility of escape didn’t look very promising. It seemed like his only hope was that the others would come rescue him. He hoped they didn’t take too long.

The voice continued with its casual snideness. “Imagine my surprise when I came back to the Vanishing Point from a mission and found the whole place blown to smithereens, only ruins and bits of scrap metal left behind. Of course, I was even more surprised when I found out the culprit. Who would have believed it. Rip Hunter, the Council’s former golden boy, the source of its destruction.”

“I was never the Council’s golden boy,” Rip snapped back.

“Really?” A derisive snort could be heard from the speaker. “From what I recall, Rip Hunter was the man who could do no wrong. The hero of the battle of Exita, the man who brought in Kalen Braxus and fought alongside some of the greatest heroes of the twenty-first century, who stopped the 16th century temporal cataclysm and survived the perils of Jergen’s Ridge. Even when you did something wrong, when you made a mistake or disobeyed orders, which you did do on multiple occasions, they just let you off with a warning. You broke the rule of no attachments, spent two whole years on a simple assignment in the Old West. You even failed to bring back the Spear of Destiny and no one cared!”

“That’s not true,” Rip countered, slashing a hand sharply through the air. “I was disciplined multiple times.”

The voice scoffed. “Slaps on the wrist, and they obviously didn’t work, did they? Because in the end even breaking the rules wasn’t enough for you. You had to rebel and go against everything the Council stood for, and then to finish it up you killed them. The Council, your fellow captains, people who supported you and mentored you, people you grew up with and fought beside, you killed them.”

“I...” Rip closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I didn’t have a choice. The Council itself had gone against everything we were supposed to stand for. They’d manipulated time, used their power to put a madman in charge of the world because they thought he was the only one to save them from some future threat. Millions of people died because of them.”

“Including your wife and son. That’s the real reason you did it, isn’t it? You could care less about those so called millions.”

“That’s not true,” Rip said again but with less conviction. The truth was he didn’t know for sure. Would he have had the strength to defy the Council if it hadn’t been for the loss of Miranda and Jonas? He would never know.

The Time Master obviously didn't think so. “You certainly didn’t care about the innocent people who died at the Vanishing Point, caught up in your little feud with the Council,” the voice said.

“I tried to send out a warning but they were blocking our communications,” said Rip, desperately attempting to justify his actions. He still felt slightly unsteady on his feet but he began restlessly pacing back and forth across the room, unable to keep still. “There was no time. We only had the one chance. Most of those in the outer reaches should have been able to get away in time.”

“Excuses, excuses, excuses.”

“The High Council had this powerful device, the Occulus. With it, they were not only able to see through time but engineer it, and they used it to make me their pawn, their puppet. It was the only way to break free. They would have found a way to stop me if I hadn’t.”

“And so you killed them. Rip Hunter, mass murderer.”

“No! I...” Rip stopped his pacing and rubbed his forehead. The room was cold but he could feel the dampness of sweat against his skin.

“You know,” the voice continued, “I don’t even really care why you did it.” For the first time, anger began to creep into the man’s tone, a deep seething anger. “You betrayed us and in doing so you took everything from me, my life, my friends, my whole reason for existing!” 

Rip had had enough of the faceless voice badgering him. He flung his hands out in front of him. “So what do you intend to do with me?” he demanded. “Lock me in here for eternity while you scold me?”

“Among other things,” the voice replied, full of sly malice. “I’ve got quite a few plans for you. Some of which I’ve already carried out.”

The last statement sent a shiver down Rip’s spine but he did his best to not let it show. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling quite so rattled. He’d faced worse before. He’d been imprisoned by time pirates, by Savage in ancient Egypt, by the Time Master in the Vanishing Point, and this time he knew he could count on the team to come rescue him. Maybe it was because so many of the things the voice was saying were hitting so close to home, echoes of accusations his own mind had already flung at him.

“What are you talking about?” he said.

The man chuckled. “Poor Rip Hunter. You really are so bad at keeping those you care about safe.”

“What?” The word came out like an escaping breath. Rip's heart beat faster as his sense of alarm grew, a sickening feeling sinking into his stomach. He’d assumed the team would come for him because he’d assumed since they weren’t there, that they were free, that they were safe. “Where’s my team? What have you done with them?”

“You don’t remember?” This time it was full blown laughter which emerged from the hidden speaker. “He doesn’t remember!”

Rip’s hands clenched into fists. “Answer me, damn you!”

The laughter slowly died away. “You really should remember,” said the voice, still full of mirth. “You were there after all.”

An image flashed through Rip’s mind. Flickering flames creeping through a large building.There had been a fire. He was sure of that now. And a loud noise. An explosion? He could remember the ground shaking beneath his feet, things falling from above.

Frowning, he shook his head. “I... I don’t...” Why couldn’t he remember what had happened? “We were on a mission. There was a time aberration in... 1967 in South Australia.”

“Ah, yes. That was me I’m afraid. I needed something to lure you here.”

“It was a trap,” said Rip, stating the obvious.

“Quite a good one too,” the voice said, smugly, “if I do say so myself. I helped spur some advances in automotive technology that shouldn’t have happened for over half a century. Something subtle, enough not to cause too much of a disruption but enough to get you where I wanted you.”

“Self-driving cars.” More pieces were slotting into place in Rip’s mind. They had discovered the inexplicable early invention of self-driving cars and had been able to trace their origin to a particular manufacturing plant in the town of Lonsdale. They’d gone in at night to investigate, the whole team, and then...

An explosion. The ground shaking. Things falling. Fire. Someone yelling? Who had been yelling?

Rip shook his head again. The team had to be okay. They had to be but his memory was still too hazy, his thoughts too. An aftereffect of whatever had been used to knock him out?

He glared up at the ceiling. “Just tell me what happened. Where are my friends?”

“Friends?” Another snort. “You know I don’t think much of these friends of yours, your so called team of Legends. I mean honestly I know you didn’t have much choice concerning who you could ally yourself with when you abandoned the Time Masters but really, a bunch of B list superheroes and criminals? Or should that be C list? A group of demented rejects who know absolutely nothing about time travel.”

“Don’t talk about them that way,” Rip growled. “They are not rejects.”

“Really? Do those halfwits even know anything about time travel?”

“They’re learning.”

“From what I hear, they are reckless and uncontrollable, and cause more trouble than they solve.”

“They are... unruly on occasion,” Rip admitted, recalling all the things he’d had to put up with from the team, the countless times they’d gotten on his nerves. “But though they are flawed, they are still an incredible team and always do the right thing when it counts the most.”

“Flawed is putting it mildly,” the voice drawled.

“You know nothing about them!” Rip yelled back.

“Actually, I do,” said the voice. “You see I did a little research beforehand and I must say it made for some interesting reading. Two of them have some of the largest criminal records I’ve ever seen including burglary, arson, kidnapping, and murder. How can you stand them let alone trust them?”

Rip took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I admit that that Mr. Snart and Mr. Rory have dark pasts and can be a trial to deal with on occasion but they are loyal and have good hearts even if they are buried deep.” 

There was a sardonic chuckle. “How touching. What about the rest of your group. It’s amazing you get anything done with this team. How is it your ship is even still flying? Your engineer is an uneducated, auto mechanic from the 21th century.”

Rip scowled. “My engineer is a brilliant young man who is an equal to any engineer the academy ever produced and cares about the Waverider just as much as I do.”

“Right, and I’m sure having a decrepit, old professor on your team is useful too.”

“A wise man who is young at heart and doesn’t let anything stop him from doing what’s right.”

“And the eccentric, deluded billionaire who thought it would be a good idea to build his own super armour in order to fight crime?” the voice asked.

“Someone with the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known and the will to face down the most impossible odds,” Rip replied.

“What about this Sara Lance?” the voice continued, clearly intent on insulting every single member of the team. “Not only was she an actual member of the league of assassins but she also died and was brought back to the life by unknown magic. There’s no telling what that can do to a person. Surely she must be unstable even if you overlook the fact she’s a killer. You would actually have someone like that at your back?”

“Sara has been through hell but it has only made her stronger,” Rip said firmly, his voice full of conviction. “I trust her with my life.”

There was a pause as if the Time Master was considering Rip’s words before he began again. “Your loyalty is admittedly admirable but surely if you really wanted to protect the timeline, you should have recruited some of the other former Time Masters to form your team. There was no stopping you from doing so once you’d taken care of Savage and the High Council. A group of former Time Masers would know much more about time travel and would have the training and discipline needed to do a far better job.”

“The team might still have a lot to learn about time travel but it’s precisely the fact the Legends are not like the Time Masters that makes them so good at what they do,” Rip insisted, hands flying through the air to emphasize his words. “Their skills are unique. They think about things in ways we never would have and fight with a tenacity we never had. Their hearts are open where ours are closed.”

“You prefer them over the Time Masters?”

Rip scoffed. “Considering everything the Time Masters have done to me, I most definitely do. And besides, I...” He cleared his throat. “I need them.”

“Really? How sweet,” was the voice's sarcastic reply. “Why do you need them?”

"None of your business," said Rip, scowling. He shouldn't have said it, didn't know why he had. Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned away and moved towards the back of the cell, wishing there was some way to escape the voice’s incessant questions. He was letting the man get to him and he blamed the fact he was still having trouble thinking clearly. He didn’t know why the former Time Master was so interested in the team anyway but there was no way in hell he was going to let him talk about them like that without coming to their defense.

“How about you tell me why you need them and I’ll tell you what happened to them?”

Rip closed his eyes and gave a frustrated sigh. He hated this, hated being at this man’s mercy but he was stuck here. Searching his mind, he tried once again to remember what had happened.

A loud explosion. The ground shaking. Things falling all around them, crashing violently to the ground. Flickering flames. Smoke. A fearful yell. Sara turning to meet his gaze, panic in her eyes.

It wasn’t enough. All he was getting were random images, tiny pieces of the puzzle. He needed to know what had happened to the team. He needed to know they were alright.

Turning around, Rip marched back to the front of the cell. “I need Martin to remind me to do what's right. I need Jax to remind me I’m part of a team. I need Ray to remind me to keep hoping. I need Sara to remind me to keep fighting. I need Leonard to remind me how far I can fall and I need Mick there to kick my ass if I do. Now tell me what the hell you did to my team!”

Rip was out of breath by the time he’d finished his speech and he stood there panting for air as he glared up at the ceiling waiting for an answer.

“It sounds as if you really care about them,” said the voice.

“Yes,” Rip admitted, fiercely, fire in his words and in his eyes. “Is that what you wanted to know? Yes, I care about my team. I love them, so tell me where they are!”

“Oh, that’s a pity.” The voice was filled with mock sadness. “That really is such a pity.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well you see, they’re dead.”


	2. Chapter 2

The entire world ground to a halt.

An invisible rope had wrapped itself around Rip’s chest and was squeezing so tightly for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Even his heart seemed to stop.

“You’re lying,” he said when he was finally able to draw breath.

“I’m afraid not,” said the voice from the ceiling.

“You’re lying,” Rip repeated louder than before. “They’re not dead. They can’t be.”

“Well, if that’s what you want to believe,” the voice replied, mockingly. “But as far as I’m concerned they are dead as dead can be.”

Rip began to pace back and forth across his concrete cell, head bent, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. It was a lie, a trick, he told himself. It had to be. The Time Master was playing with him.

“I don’t know why you’re in such denial,” the voice continued. “After all, you were there. You saw the whole thing. You watched them die.”

Rip shook his head. “No, I...” What had he seen? What had really happened?

An explosion. Or had there been multiple explosions? The ground shaking. Things tumbling down from above. Encroaching flames and suffocating smoke. People yelling. Sara’s panicked look. Ray in his Atom suit falling through the air.

Rip squeezed his eyes shut, running both hands through his hair in frustration.

Why couldn’t he remember?

“Would you like me to tell you what happened?” the voice asked. “It was quite ingenious actually. I planned the whole thing myself. I suppose I could have gone with something a bit more fitting for a group of superheroes but killer robots are so hard to come by these days and simple is often best.”

“What did you do?” Rip demanded.

“Do you remember Professor Nazari?”

Rip frowned confused by the non-sequitur. “What?” 

“Professor Nazari. She taught twentieth century history at the academy. Surely you must remember her. A wonderful teacher. Her tests were legendary.”

“Yes, of course, I remember her,” said Rip, wishing the man would stop stalling. “I had her in my first year.”

“You killed her too you know,” the Time Master couldn’t help reminding him. “But while she was alive, she used to always talk about the ouroboros of time, the patterns of history repeating themselves over and over again in a circle.”

“Yes, yes, yes. History repeats itself. It was her favourite saying.” Another twinge of guilt struck Rip as he recalled the professor. She had been one of his favourite teachers once upon a time.

“History does repeat itself,” said the voice. “As Time Masters, we know this from experience. Even when people try to go back and change things, history tends to repeat.” The man let out a sardonic chuckle. “And who am I to argue with history. Besides, it seemed appropriate. You blow up my friends so I blow up yours.”

Cold fury filled Rip. “You bastard.”

“I mean it’s only fair.”

“You bastard!” Rip cried and leaping forward, slammed a fist against the door.

It was a stupid move.

Grimacing, he drew his hand back rubbing it as pain radiated up his arm.

“Temper, temper, Captain,” the voice chided.

Rip scowled. He needed to get a hold of himself, needed to stop letting the man get to him but it was hard. His heart was beating frantically and there was a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. There was still no proof that what the Time Master was saying was true, he told himself.

But you remember the explosion, don’t you, said a quiet voice at the back of his mind. 

Taking a deep breath, Rip did his best to regain his composure. “You set explosives in the factory,” he said to his faceless jailer.

“Exactly,” replied the voice. “Now you’re remembering. I didn’t want to make it too easy. A quick death just wouldn’t do. So I set multiple small explosives around the building to bring it down instead of blowing you up instantly.”

Things tumbling and crashing down from above, large chunks of concrete and timber, bits of the ceiling and walls. The building collapsing around them.

The memory made Rip shudder. It wasn’t true, he told himself. They weren’t dead. Bits of the man’s story might be true but that didn’t mean everything was. The explosions might have happened. The building might have fallen but everything else was lies.

“The idea,” the voice elaborated, “was that you would be either crushed to death or become trapped and die excruciatingly slowly. The fires the explosions set off were just a bonus. What do you think is worse: slowly suffocating to death or being burnt alive? Both happened to members of your team by the way. Being burnt alive must be painful but to know you’re going to die as you gasp desperately for air that isn’t there...”

Rip took a shaky breath feeling sick. 

“Do you want to know how each of them died?”

Swallowing, Rip closed his eyes and refused to answer. If the man wanted to upset him, see him suffer, see him break, then he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“I think it was your Professor Stein who died first. He merged with the boy into that Firestorm being and they flew up to the ceiling, tried to blast a way clear for the rest of the team. It might have worked if they hadn’t been hit by that falling pillar. The blow must have caused them to split apart because they were on their own when they came tumbling back down. The professor hit the ground head first, his precious brains spilling out over the floor for all to see. What a mess that was.”

Unbidden an image of what the voice described appeared in Rip’s head nauseating him even more. He pushed the image away.

“The boy survived though, or I should say, he survived the fall. All he got were a few broken bones. Is it true those two had a psychic connection? Maybe it’s a good thing he died later on. I can’t imagine what it would be like to feel someone else die inside your mind, to live on with that memory.”

Rip grit his teeth until his jaw hurt, his hands clenching so tight his fingernails bit into his skin.

“That idiot billionaire tried to blast his way free too using that ridiculous suit of his, until the ceiling fell on him. It didn’t actual kill him straight away, just trapped him. The weight of it was too much for even his precious suit to lift. Imagine being stuck like that, buried alive, trapped alone in the dark knowing you would die as the air ran out or the smoke suffocated you. I wonder how long it took. I wonder if he got to hear the others dying around him as he lay there all helpless.”

The voice echoed off the walls drilling into Rip’s brain, its words a relentless litany of horrors. He just wanted it to stop.

“It turns out choosing an automobile factory was a real good choice for this trap, all those toxic and oh so flammable chemicals around. I think some of them must have gotten on Mr. Snart because when it he caught on fire, he really caught on fire. Isn’t that ironic? Someone calling themselves Captain Cold going up in flames. The other one, Mr. Rory, tried to save him and ended up on fire too. Burning together, screaming together, dying together. How romantic. The smell must have been quite something, all that roasting meat.”

For a sickening moment, Rip thought he could smell it, the smoke, the burning flesh. He could even picture the moment in his mind, hear the screaming. Was he picturing it? Was it really just his imagination or was he remembering? Panic surged through him as he suddenly realized he could no longer tell.

“Now your dear Miss Lance might have actually managed to get away but she insisted on helping that boy. What was that silly name you used to call him? Oh, that’s right. Jax. She should have just left him to die; then maybe someone would have survived.”

“Shut up,” Rip ground out between his gritted teeth.

“They almost made it. They even managed to find an exit, but fortunately, I was keeping an eye on them and I’m never one to leave things to chance, so I set off another bomb, one I’d been keeping in reserve for just such an eventuality. That’s what finally got them. It didn’t kill them instantly though. No, it just left them shattered and broken. They got to spend their final moments in agony with the terrifying knowledge they were going to die.”

“Shut up,” Rip repeated putting his hands over his ears.

“Struggling to breath as they bled out over the....”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

Mercifully, the voice stopped.

Bent over, panting for air, Rip slowly let his hands fall from his ears. He was covered in sweat now, his heart pounding, his hands shaking as despair seemed to wash over him like a tidal wave large enough to drown him.

It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true, he told himself once more repeating it over and over like a mantra. The things the Time Master said were lies, lies meant to unsettle him, mess with head. He shouldn’t let them get to him. If only he could think properly but his brain still felt so fuzzy, his thoughts sluggish. That damn sedative used to knock him out...

Drugged. He’d been drugged.

Understanding suddenly dawned as Rip gazed down at his trembling hands. His volatile emotions, his sluggish thoughts, the clamminess of his skin, the rolling nausea in his stomach... This was more than just the side effects of some sedative and a few manipulative words.

“What did you do to me?” he said, his voice cracking.

“Hmm?” the voice hummed innocently.

White hot rage hit Rip. The man was playing with him. He knew exactly what Rip was talking about.

“What the hell did you do to me?!” Rip yelled.

“Oh,” the voice replied. “Just gave you a little something to help facilitate our conversation, make things a bit more interesting.”

Carried forth by his anger and a desperate need to get out of there, Rip jumped forward with a cry and began pounding on the door.

“Now, now,” said the voice, patronizingly. “You don’t want to leave, Captain. We haven’t even got to the good bit yet.”

Rip slammed his fist against the door one last time and then spun away, resuming a restless pacing of the confined space.

He needed to get control of himself. Now he knew a drug was effecting him, he needed to fight it. Taking several deep breaths, he tried to calm his rapid heartbeat, to get a reign on his emotions, but each time he started to make progress, he felt the control slip away and the feelings of panic and despair overwhelm him once more. The fact he knew they were partially drug induced didn’t make them seem any less real.

He suddenly felt a deep desire for Gideon, to hear her soothing tones in his ear. He always knew he could count on her to be the voice of reason when he couldn’t trust himself to be, but instead of her voice, he got this madman tormenting him.

“Don’t you want to know what happened to you?” the voice asked. “Why all of your teammates, your friends, died and you survived?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me whether I want you to or not,” Rip replied, bitterly.

“True,” the voice admitted. “The truth of the matter is you were too busy saving your own skin to help them. I provided an escape route and you took it. As your friends were dying you were running away.”

The words drew Rip to a halt. “No, that’s not true. That’s not possible. I would never...”

“Abandon them?” A derisive snort came over the speaker. “Like you didn’t abandon the Time Masters and leave them to die? Like you didn’t abandon your family to Vandal Savage?”

“Don’t you dare bring them into this,” Rip said pointing a finger at the ceiling, his voice filled with barely controlled fury.

“Who? Your wife and son? Miranda Coburn and little Jonas Hunter, the ones you left to be shot down in the ruins of London? How did it feel when you found out they were dead?”

Rip swallowed trying hard not to remember and failing. 

He had been searching through the wreckage left by Savage’s troops for hours when he finally found them and even then it had taken a second look for him to realize the crumpled forms were in fact his family. It was the pink of Miranda’s shirt that first caught his eye. When he saw the small body lying beside the larger one, he had known it had to be them. 

He fell onto his knees beside them praying to every god there was they were still alive but when he laid a hand to their necks to check for a pulse, he had found their bodies were already growing cold. There was nothing at first as he gathered the lifeless bodies into his arms, no thoughts or feelings at all, just a blank emptiness like his very soul had died along with them. Then a despair so dark he hadn’t even known he was capable of feeling it had welled up inside his chest.

“I imagine it’s bit like how you feel now,” the voice continued breaking Rip free of the memory. “This seems to be a pattern with you. You abandon those you love and then they die, usually in fairly horrific circumstances.”

The old despair threatened to wash over Rip once again but instead he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Through great effort, he managed to find a still point, a last fragment of calmness and stability in his mind, and he grabbed a hold of it. His grip wavered but he held on.

“No,” he said, quiet but firm.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” asked the voice.

There was an intensity in Rip’s eyes as he gazed up at the ceiling. “You’re wrong.”

“Really?” the voice said, mockingly.

“You almost had me believing you,” said Rip, the corner of his lip curling up in a wry smile, “almost, but it seems you’ve told one lie too many.”

“And what is that?”

“I would never”—Rip slashed a hand through the air—“never abandon my team.”

For once, the voice didn’t have an instant retort and several moments passed in silence. 

Rip began to wonder if he’d finally succeeded in calling the man’s bluff, if the voice would finally leave him alone. He had to admit based on the state of the man’s sanity that seemed unlikely.

“All this denial can’t be healthy, Captain,” said the voice, starting up again.

Rip groaned and rolled his eyes. “The only thing I’m denying is your blatant lies.” 

He really needed to find a way out of there but his mind was still too clouded by the drug to think of one. He would just have to hold on until the others came to rescue him because they would come. They were alive and they would come for him. He had to believe that.

“All I’ve told you is the truth,” the voice said.

“Yet to me it all sounds like lies,” said Rip. “And given who you are and what you’ve done, there is absolutely no reason for me to trust you.”

“Just because it’s something you don’t want to hear doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” The voice’s tone was so condescendingly sweet it made Rip feel ill. “Your friends did die and you did abandon them.”

Rip glared up at the ceiling. “Yeah, well, where’s your proof?”

Another pause, and then laughter, quiet at first but building to a crescendo.

“What?” Rip demanded.

The laughter ended with an audible gasp. “Oh, I always love this part.”

The lines on Rip’s forehead deepened. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You really didn’t do a very good job of examining your cell, did you?”

Confused, Rip glanced around. He hadn’t really explored his prison but then he’d been a little distracted and had assumed that since it was a prison, there wouldn’t be anything to see. The room was about 300 square foot, quite roomy as far as prison cells went, with bare cement walls, floor, and ceiling, a real concrete box. The only things to break up the monotony were the reinforced door and the bare bulb on the ceiling which was doing a very bad job of providing light leaving darkness in all the corners.

One of those dark corners drew Rip’s gaze. There was something there, a small shape among the shadows. He took a step towards it and found the corner was not as empty as he’d previously believed. An oddly shaped lump lay on the floor. He blamed the dim light and the effects of the drug for not having noticed it before. 

“There you go,” the voice said, sounding disturbingly happy. “I knew you’d find it. Why don’t you take a closer look?”

With a feeling of foreboding, Rip knelt on the floor beside the lump. Once he was closer he was able to see it wasn’t one thing but a collection of things haphazardly dumped together in a pile. All the objects were blackened and charred and smelled of smoke.

Rip swallowed. “What is this?”

“What you asked for,” the voice smugly replied, “proof.”

A slight tremor in his fingers, Rip picked up one of the objects. It was a shirt or it had been once. What was left was frayed and torn and covered in rust coloured stains. 

Didn’t Jax have a shirt like this? Had he been wearing it when they’d been searching the warehouse? 

Rip shook his head. His memories were still too clouded. He couldn’t be sure.

Reaching into the pile once more, he pulled out a scrap of leather. Though blackened, there was enough of the original colour left to tell it had once been white. 

Growing alarmed, Rip began frantically digging through the pile. Many of the objects were too burnt to be identifiable but his hand eventually fell upon a twisted bit of metal and he pulled it out. The metal was attached to some circuits and wires and the paint it bore was a familiar shade of red.

Rip let his eyes fall shut. He didn’t want to see anything more but one final object somehow drew him towards it. It sat at the back of the pile and was slightly larger than the rest. Whatever it was was covered by a bit of old, ragged cloth so he couldn’t identify it.

Taking a deep breath, Rip took ahold of a corner of the cloth and pulled it back.

A blackened skull grinned up at him.

Rip scrambled backwards, pushing himself along the floor until his back hit the opposite wall.

Maniacal laughter filled the room but Rip barely heard it. He was too busy staring wide-eyed at the skull, its empty sockets gazing accusingly back at him. He sat there, heart pounding, lungs gasping for air until it became too much and he twisted to the side throwing up a stream of bile onto the floor. 

“There’s your proof!” the voice exclaimed. “Are you willing to believe me now?”

Rip collapsed bonelessly against the wall.

No, no, no, no. Please, God, no.

“Your friends are dead and it’s all your fault.”

They were dead. 

Tears trailed down Rip’s face as he continued to wheeze struggling to pull air through his constricting chest.

They were really dead.

He could remember now. He could see it all in his mind: Martin tumbling through the air, Ray trapped and yelling for help, Mick and Snart screaming as they burned, Sara and Jax writhing in pain, their bodies broken. It had happened just like the other Time Master had said. 

And he was right. It was Rip’s fault. It was all his fault. The team, his friends, were dead and he might as well have killed them. He had recruited them, led them right into a trap, and then abandoned them to die horrible deaths.

Other images flashed through his mind: Ray grinning, his face lit up with enthusiasm; Martin and Jax bickering good-naturedly, eyes rolling at each other’s stubbornness; Leonard lazily lounging in a chair, head resting on his hand, one leg propped on top the other; Mick going through his food like he hadn’t eaten in months; Sara twirling a bo staff in her hand, a smirk on her face and a teasing glint in her eye.

They were all gone now, his team, his friends, his family, and he was the one who’d killed them.

“Poor, poor Rip Hunter,” the voice sneered. “Lost everything, have you? I’d have thought you’d be used to it by now.”

Rip squeezed his eyes shut but the tears continued to fall.

He couldn’t do it, not again. He couldn’t get up and move on like he had before. Part of him was forever dead and buried in the ruins of London in 2166 and it seemed like the rest of him would die here. 

“And you want to know the best bit?” the voice continued. “You know that little drug I gave you. Well, it has some interesting side effects. Soon enough you'll pass out and I’ll give you another dose. That dose will make you forget everything that just happened, everything I told you. Do you know what that means?”

Rip listlessly raised his head to gaze up at the ceiling, his eyes dull and red rimmed.

“It means,” the voice answered for itself, “that I get to tell you your friends are dead all over again. Isn’t that wonderful? It’s quite ingenious of me if I do say so myself. You see this isn’t the first time I’ve told you, not at all. I’ll leave you to wonder how many but I assure you I’ve done it multiple times in multiple different ways. I think I like this way the best though, making you remember how much you care about them and then telling you how each died in excruciating detail.”

The words washed over Rip, the horror of them barely registering. A sort of numbness had come over him and everything around him felt distant and unreal. His heart was no longer racing. His lungs were no longer heaving. Even his tears had stopped, their remains drying against his cheeks. He was empty and drained with nothing left but a heavy weight in his chest.

They were dead. 

The Legends were dead. 

Nothing else mattered anymore.

“I’ve never really liked physical torture you see,” said the voice. “Too messy. And it’s so easy to accidentally kill someone, though I suppose with all the stress this puts on your body, your heart might give out eventually.” The voice paused. “Hello? Are you still there? 

Rip didn’t answer. He was staring across at the skull, his mind blank, beyond even thought now.

“My, my. What happened to the snarky Captain Hunter of a few minutes ago?” A chuckle was heard. “Oh, I suppose we’ll see him again later after your next dose. I think next time I won’t even tell you anything, just let you find the remains of your friends on your own and see what happens. Who knows it might even... What was that?”

Some muffled noises came through the speaker, too low to make out.

“No, it can’t be. How did you find me?” 

A sharp scraping could be heard and more muffled noises. 

“Stay back!” the voice yelled.

A thud and a crackling sound followed and then nothing.

Through all of this Rip didn’t break his gaze from that of the skull, mesmerized by its empty sockets and death grin. Words meant nothing to him anymore so he didn’t even notice when the voice stopped. He just sat there. It wasn’t until he heard the bolt on the door being drawn back that he finally raised his head.

The metal door of his cell swung open with a loud creak, and as Rip watched, two ghosts entered the room.


	3. Chapter 3

For the second time in so many minutes, Rip’s heart felt as if it had stopped beating. 

The apparitions that had just entered his cell looked exactly like Sara and Jax. They wore the same uniforms as Sara and Jax, Sara in her White Canary leathers, Jax in the orange and yellow of Firestorm. They moved across the room like Sara and Jax. They even sounded like Sara and Jax though Rip was having trouble making out their words. 

By all measures available to him, by every minute detail, these were his friends. 

But that was impossible. 

They couldn’t be Sara and Jax.

Sara and Jax were dead.

Rip had seen it. He had seen them die. He could remember it clearly. He remembered Sara supporting the injured Jax as they desperately tried to escape the collapsing building. He remembered how the two had found a way out and then got caught up in that final explosion. He could remember seeing their bodies fly through the air, limp and helpless, tumbling over and over as they hit the ground. He remembered seeing them sprawled there crying out in pain, uniform and skin torn and bloody, bodies beyond hope of healing. He remembered the cries stopping and the light fading from their eyes.

They were gone, gone forever. Rip was sure of that now.

This couldn’t be Sara and Jax.

But...

And then with a cold realization, Rip understood.

These really were spirits, vengeful spirits. His sins had finally caught up with him. The spirits had come to get their revenge, to make him pay for failing his team, for failing his family, for causing their deaths.

Rip gave a low moan of despair.

The ghosts took a step towards him, arms outstretched.

“No!” he cried and tried to scuttle backwards but he was already as far back as he could go, wedged into a far corner of the room. He pressed himself against the wall behind him, shrinking back as much as he could. “Stay away!”

The ghosts spoke some more but all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears.

“No,” he said again and held his arms in front of his face to ward them off.

But the ghosts kept coming, slowly creeping towards him, muttering their meaningless words as they drew nearer. 

He shrunk back even more but he knew it was useless. There was no way to escape and no way to defend himself. You couldn’t fight the dead. 

Giving in to the inevitable defeat, Rip let his arms fall back down. 

It was what he deserved anyway. It was his fault. It was all his fault.

Rip squeezed his eyes shut not wanting to see the familiar faces anymore. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m...”

A hand grabbed his arm.

“Rip!”

With a startled jolt, Rip opened his eyes and stared down at the hand. Thin but strong fingers encircled his forearm, clutching him tightly. Tentatively, he reached up until he was mirroring the gesture, his fingers encircling the other’s forearm in turn.

It felt solid. 

It felt real. 

Rip’s gaze travelled up the arm until it met a pair of anxious blue eyes. 

“Sara?”

Crouched in front of him, the owner of the hand let out an audible sigh of relief. “Hey,” she said. “You back with us?”

Rip’s eyes narrowed in confusion, his forehead furrowing. 

If this wasn’t a ghost, if this really was Sara...

Rip shook his head, his drugged mind still struggling to process what was happening. He turned his gaze to the other person crouched beside the first.

“Jax?”

The man who looked very much like Jefferson Jackson grinned at him. “In the flesh. You had us worried for a second there.”

Still not quite able to believe what he was seeing, Rip gazed from one to the other, his head swinging back and forth.

They weren’t ghosts. They were solid flesh and bone. He could feel that for himself. The two people in front of him were really there, the three, he corrected himself since Jax was in Firestorm mode meaning Martin was, in a sense, there too, and that meant...

“You’re alive?”

“Obviously,” Sara replied teasingly though the anxious look remained in her eyes.

“But...” Rip squeezed Sara arm tighter as if that link could somehow help him make sense of things. “I don’t understand. You died. I saw...”

The explosion, the fire, the collapsing building, the team dying one by one, Sara and Jax’s broken bodies. Had it all been a hoax, some sort of trick? Or was this the trick?

Rip yanked his arm back staring at the people in front of him with wary eyes. “No,” he said, his breath quickening. “No, no, no, no, no, no. This is another one of his sick jokes. He’s playing with me. You can’t be here. You can’t. You’re...”

This time it was Jax who reached out taking hold of Rip's shoulder. “Breathe, man,” he said. “It’s us. I promise. It’s us.” 

Realizing he was close to hyperventilating, Rip took a deep breath and did his best to steady his breathing. “But I saw you die.” 

Had he though? Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t remembered anything until the Time Master had prompted him, and when he examined the memories more closely, they didn’t seem as clear as he’d thought they were. Everything was jumbled about in his head leaving him feeling lost and confused. 

“You died,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

Sara and Jax exchanged concerned looks.

“I don’t know what you thought you saw,” said Sara, “but it wasn’t real.”

“You know what they say,” added Jax. “Rumours of our deaths and all that crap.”

It still seemed very real to Rip. “But the factory, the explosions...” 

“We made it out okay,” Sara explained. “The explosions were just a distraction. Don’t you remember?”

Rip shook his head. Could it be true? he wondered feeling the first stirrings of hope in his chest. “The rest of the team?”

“They made it out too,” said Sara.

“Even Mick,” said Jax with a wry smile, “which I’m sure you’re glad to hear.”

“And they’re all okay?” Rip asked, needing to know for sure.

“Everyone’s fine,” Sara assured him. “You’re the one we’ve been worried about.”

Rip let out a shaky breath. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t understand how it was possible for them to be there, not with the memory of them dying still churning in his mind.

But that didn’t matter.

They were alive.

They were alive. 

The truth was finally sinking in and the relief was so overwhelming Rip thought he might pass out. He wanted to burst into sobs. He wanted to leap forward, wrap his arms around them, and never let go.

Bowing his head, he squeezed his eyes shut, somehow managing with the last vestiges of his strength to keep control of himself though he felt the beginning of tears well up. 

“Rip? Rip!”

Sara and Jax called out his name as this time they both grabbed a hold of him. Whether the hands were there to steady him or shake him out of whatever stupor they thought he’d fallen into, Rip wasn’t sure but the touch was almost his undoing. It was too much, the sensation too intense, and he felt too raw, both in body and mind. He had to spend a minute simply breathing, his own hands clenched tightly into fists. Only when he was sure he wasn't about to fall apart did he reopen his eyes. 

Sara and Jax were gazing anxiously at him.

“Are you alright?” Sara asked.

Rip felt the strange urge to laugh. ‘Alright’ was not the word he would use. He was so drained it felt as if he were recovering from a serious illness. He was clammy and shaky. His thoughts were still sluggish and his emotions were all over the place. He was a wreck, and from the way the others were acting, he must look it too.

He waved a hand at his head. “Drugged,” was all he managed to say. Even talking seemed to take a lot of effort.

Frowning, Jax leaned forward and used one hand to check Rip’s pupils, the other his pulse. “Grey says he’s definitely drugged and it doesn’t look like it was the fun kind.”

Sara’s face contorted with anger, fury burning in her eyes. “I’m going to eviscerate that bastard and feed him his own organs,” she hissed with an intensity which left little doubt she would do just that. After taking a deep breath, she said in a much calmer tone, “It will be fine. We’ll take Rip back to the ship and Gideon will take care of everything.” Addressing Rip once more, she added, “That sound good to you?”

Rip nodded. Going back home to the Waverider, to the team, to Gideon? It sounded like heaven.

Sara turned to Jax. “Could you go check on the others?”

“Sure,” Jax replied. Before he left, he squeezed Rip’s shoulder and said, “You’re safe now. You know that, right? We’ve got your back.”

Rip nodded again, the corner of his lip quirking upward in the tiniest of smiles. He appreciated the sentiment even though it had never been his own safety he’d been worried about.

Once Jax had left, Sara leaned closer and met Rip’s eyes with an intense gaze he couldn’t break away from. “I know you’ve been drugged but I need to know if you have any other injuries.” Her voice was compassionate but firm. “Did he do anything else to you?

“No,” Rip said, shaking his head, but then he remembered what the voice had said about the drug making him forget what had happened before. “I mean... I don’t think so.” 

He didn’t feel as if he’d been hurt. There were a few aches that might be bruises or strained muscles but nothing more unless the drugs were masking the injuries. Feeling a slight sting from his hand, he looked down and was shocked. 

His hands were a mess. They were scratched and bruised, his nails ragged and broken.

When had that happened? He remembered pounding against the cell door but that was it. He swallowed as a cold feeling sank deep into his stomach. Taking in the state of his clothes, he realized they weren’t in much better condition than his hands, dirty and rumbled as if he'd been wearing them for days. What else had he forgotten? 

Sara followed his gaze and gently took his hands in hers. “Rip?” she said, her voice soft.

“How long have I been here?” Rip asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“You’ve been gone five days,” Sara replied. “At least, for us. When we tracked down the idiot who kidnapped you, he was in another time so we had to make a jump and we couldn’t be sure...”

Rip tightened his hands around hers as a tremor passed through him. Panic threatened to take over but he pushed it aside. It didn’t matter he told himself. The team was alive. That was the important thing.

Glancing to the side, his eyes fixed on the blackened skull still sitting in the corner of the room among the pile of burnt refuse.

“What’s that?” asked Sara, frowning.

“Nothing,” said Rip, his voice hollow. “Just smoke and mirrors.” He recalled how he’d felt when he’d first seen the skull, the complete despair when he’d believed the team to be dead.

Two tears finally escaped trailing down his cheeks.

Sara wiped them away without saying a word.

“Sorry,” said Rip, embarrassed both by the tears and the shakiness of his voice. God, he was a mess.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” said Sara. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here. We can figure out what happened later.” 

Sara took a hold of Rip’s arm and helped pull him to his feet. Once upright, Rip swayed slightly but Sara kept her grip on his arm keeping him steady. He felt dizzy and weak, and he wondered if it was due to the drugs or the emotional turmoil he’d been through, the emotional turmoil he was still going through. He was glad Sara hadn’t let go because he still needed the reassurance that she was really there, alive and well.

Together they made their way to the exit, Sara supporting Rip, but before they could reach the door, someone else arrived.

“Hey, look what I found!” 

It was Ray in his Atom Suit, holding up Rip’s coat and revolver, a giant grin on his face.

Ray’s grin seemed comically out of place after everything that had happened but the familiar sight of it made Rip want to burst into tears all over again. The efforts to stop them from falling left his chest and throat aching. 

Ray’s grin fell, though, when he caught sight of the captain.

“Rip?” he said, eyes widening. “What...?”

“He’s fine,” Sara quickly cut in. “He’s been drugged so he’s a little out of it and he’s been through a lot but he’s going to be fine.” The last bit seemed to be directed as much to Rip as to Ray.

“Oh.” Ray tried to smile again but the smile wavered, his eyes shining with sympathy and concern. “Well, I guess I’ll just take these back to the ship for you,” he said, patting the coat. “I promise to take good care of them.” 

Ray tried and failed to smile once more before turning to leave. However, he’d only taken a couple steps when he quickly turned around, rushed back towards Rip, and wrapped his arms around him.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispered in Rip’s ear.

The Atom Suit was not the most pleasant thing to hug but Rip didn’t care. He hugged Ray back as best he could. “Likewise, Dr. Palmer,” he replied, his voice rough.

They separated and Ray managed a genuine smile this time as he left. 

A fond smile on her own face, Sara took Rip’s arm again. “Let’s go.”

Stepping through the door, they came out into a dull corridor with cement walls similar to those inside the cell. Rip couldn’t tell what sort of building they were in or even what time period, and for once, he really didn’t care. He just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible but something was niggling at him. There were many questions still unanswered and one wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Where are the others?” he asked, dragging his feet slightly as they turned left into another corridor.

“They’re dealing with some stuff,” Sara said. “We’ll meet them back at the ship.”

Rip didn't like the vagueness of her answer. "What stuff?"

"Nothing important." Sara pulled at his arm to encourage him to keep moving. "Come on."

“Sara,” said Rip, tiredly. He stopped forcing her to do the same. 

A flicker of guilt passed over Sara’s face.

She knew what he wanted to know. Rip knew she did. She’d been keeping an ear open to what the others were doing through the coms the entire time like he would have done so she knew exactly what the team was up to. There was something she was avoiding telling him.

“Please, Sara,” Rip said. He really didn’t have the energy left to deal with this but he had to know.

Sara looked away and let out a sigh. “They’re ‘interrogating’ our kidnapping Time Master.”

Rip could hear the quotes around the word ‘interrogating’ making him wonder what exactly that entailed. “I need to see him.”

“No,” Sara said, emphatically, shaking her head. “You’re in no state to...”

“Please, Sara,” Rip repeated. “I need to do this.”

Sara stared at him a long time. “Fine," she said in the end, "but I reserve the right to drag your ass out of there at any time if I don’t like what I see.”

Rip nodded. “Agreed.”

They changed direction as Sara led them a different way through the building. Rip kept silent throughout the journey conserving what little energy he had.

It wasn’t long before they came to another room. It was as large as the one Rip had woken up in but seemed smaller due to all of the equipment inside. A large screen dominated one wall and below it stood some sort of control console. The screen, however, showed nothing, a large crack almost splitting it in two, and the console was blackened and half-melted as if it had been in a fire, which given the nature of some of the people currently occupying the room was probably the case.

There were four people in the room but Rip was mostly concerned with the one lying beaten and moaning on the floor.

Rip stared down at the man not sure how to feel, too tired and drained to feel much of anything.

Jax, who had been standing guard by the door, gazed at Sara and Rip in surprise. “Um, are you sure this is such a good idea?” he asked Sara, raising his eyebrows in Rip’s direction in what he probably thought was a subtle manner.

“It’s what he wants,” said Sara, shaking her head. “And you know how stubborn he can be.”

If he had been in any other state, Rip might have had something to say about that, or at least, would have given her a suitable glare. All he could manage at the moment was a small huff.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on him," Sara said, patting him on the back.

Ignoring her, Rip stepped further into the room towards his goal. 

The two men standing over the beaten man looked up as Rip approached.

The one on the left frowned. “You look like crap,” Leonard Snart said in greeting.

“It’s good to see you too, Mr. Snart,” said Rip.

Despite the flippancy of his reply, he meant it. He was glad to finally have visual proof of the well-being of the entire team. It eased the tightness which had seized his chest when he'd believed they were gone and helped fight against the nagging voice at the back of his mind which still insisted they were dead. 

The man standing on the right, Mick Rory, narrowed his eyes at Rip and then turned back to the man they were ‘interrogating’ and gave him a vicious kick.

The man on the floor, who had been attempting to get to his knees, fell back down with a cry.

Rip wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but this certainly wasn’t it. Maybe it was because the voice had been so loud and inescapable but he’d assumed the man would be bigger. Instead, the Time Master was fairly short though somewhat broad-shouldered. He had shaggy, black hair, a round face, and dark, wide-set eyes, and there was nothing particularly remarkable about him at all. He could have been anyone. It was quite possible they had been at the academy together but Rip didn’t remember ever seeing him.

Carefully, because his balance was still off, Rip knelt down in front of the man. Behind him, he could feel Sara hovering protectively. He stared at the man until the Time Master slowly raised his head, and with reluctance, met Rip’s eyes. Apparently, he was a lot less cocky in person though Rip could still feel his loathing. He clearly hated Rip with every fiber of his being.

“What’s your name?” Rip asked, his voice surprisingly calm.

The man didn’t answer.

“Your name,” Rip repeated louder.

Snart prodded the man with the end of his Cold Gun as encouragement.

The man winced. “Chul Kye,” he confessed, sending an acid glare up at Snart.

It was odd hearing what had been a disembodied voice for so long coming out of the man’s mouth. Rip had let that voice get to him, let it torment him and break him down. There was power in being a nameless, faceless voice but take that power away and the person became just another flawed and vulnerable human being. 

“Well, Mr. Kye,” he said, coldly. “I told you before that I would never abandon my team and I was right but there was something else I should have told you.”

“What’s that?” said Kye, sneering.

“My team would never abandon me either.”

Kye’s face twisted into a scowl. Obviously, he’d figured that out already and didn’t appreciate the reminder.

Rip let out a weary sigh. “Sadly, the same thing can’t be said about the Time Masters.” 

He got back to his feet with some help from Sara for which he was extremely grateful. He was nearing his limits by this point and the effects of the drug were making themselves known once more. 

“I’m sorry you lost everything,” Rip said, looking back down at the man. “But I’m not sorry for what I did to the Time Masters. It had to be done. You’ll just have to learn to live with what happened, find yourself a new life. That will be your punishment as well as mine.”

Turning around, Rip began to walk away but stumbled after only a few steps and almost fell. Thankfully, Sara caught him before he could do so.

“We need to get you back to the ship,” she said as she held him steady.

“I know. I know,” Rip replied, rubbing his forehead tiredly. He cast one last look behind him at Kye who was gazing dejectedly at the ground.

“What should we do with him?” asked Sara.

“Do you know where his timeship is?”

Sara nodded.

“Destroy it,” said Rip. “Strand him here but don’t do anything else to him.”

Kye must have overheard because he cried “No!” and attempted to scramble to his feet but Snart and Rory held him down. “You can’t. That ship is all I have left.”

Rip gazed at him in pity and shook his head.

Kye’s eyes lit up with a furious anger. “You fucking traitor. You soulless bastard. Do this, take this last thing from me and I’ll make your nightmares real. I’ll make you watch as I pull your friends apart piece by bloody piece until you grow deaf from their screams. I’ll...”

A quick fist from Mick silenced the Time Master and he crumpled to the ground.

Rip stared down at the fallen form.

Sara gently squeezed his arm. “Are you sure about this?” 

“We can take care of him if you like,” Snart offered casually as if a little murder was no big deal.

“It would be our pleasure,” added Mick, sounding, in Rip’s opinion, a touch too enthusiastic about the idea.

Rip shook his head. He couldn’t bring himself to wish the man dead even after what he had done, even after the threats to the team. It was still his fault the man had become what he had become after all. He liked to believe he had done the right thing by destroying the Vanishing Point but sometimes, on his darker days, he couldn’t help wondering if maybe there had been a better way, if he could have saved more of the people there.

“Rip...” said Sara, clearly not happy with his choice.

Rip shook his head once more. “Just take me home.” 

He’d had more than enough of this place. He just wanted to go back to the Waverider, curl up in bed, and pretend none of this had ever happened. Now that he’d had the chance to confront Kye, he was suddenly very much aware of how his body was feeling and it wasn’t good. He felt distinctly ill. His whole body was trembling, his heart was thudding heavily in his chest, and his breathing seemed to be taking way more effort than should be necessary. 

“Please, Sara,” he said as his voice grew fainter. “Just take me home.”

The last thing he was aware of as the world darkened and disappeared was a strong pair of arms wrapping around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More comfort to come I promise. Next chapter should hopefully be the last.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to finish this last bit.

Rip was floating on the edge of consciousness, somewhere in the blissful oblivion between dream and reality, when he started to become aware that something was wrong. For what seemed like a long time, he couldn’t identify what it was. There was just some unknown anxiety gnawing at him and a horrible sense of loss as if something terrible had happened. 

And then he remembered.

Rip’s eyes sprang open and he surged upward. “No!”

Someone grabbed him trying to push him back down and he struggled against them.

“No!” he cried again.

Dead. They were dead. God, no. Sara, Jax, Mick, Ray, Leonard, Martin. They were all dead.

He struggled some more, legs kicking, arms flailing about desperately, and he manged to throw off the person holding him.

“A little help here.”

Someone wrapped their arms around him from behind while another pushed down on his legs effectively pinning him but Rip continued to struggle fighting to get free, lashing out mindlessly in anger and despair, only dimly aware of the voices in the background.

“Rip! Rip, relax. It’s us.”

“Yikes! He’s stronger than he looks.”

“Rip? Damn it! I thought you said the drugs would have worn off by now.”

“They have. This must be some sort of aftereffect, or maybe it’s a nightmare. I’m not sure he’s even truly awake.”

“Rip. Rip, listen to me. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“Yeah, we’ve got you. So if you’d like to—” There was an oomph as one of Rip’s legs managed to get free and connect with something solid.

“Rip, calm down. Can’t we give him a sedative?”

“I’m not sure that’s advisable considering all the drugs he’s been given recently.”

“Do we have a choice? If he keeps going like this, he might hurt himself.”

“Not to mention us.”

“Maybe if we—”

“Captain Hunter, stop that immediately!”

The last voice, very loud and very familiar, finally broke through Rip’s tormented mind. Startled, he automatically obeyed ceasing to struggle and going limp.

“Gideon?” he said, uncertainly.

“Yes, Captain,” the A.I. replied at a more normal volume. “You are in medbay. The Waverider is currently in the temporal zone. All systems functional. All crew members accounted for and unharmed.”

Rip blinked, suddenly aware that he was in fact lying on one of the beds in the medbay.

Ray was standing near the end of the bed, leaning over Rip’s legs as he held them down. When he saw Rip looking at him, he raised a hand and waved. “Hey, Rip.” Grimacing, he rubbed the hand over his ribs. “That’s quite some kick you’ve got there.”

“Ray?” Rip said with a frown.

“Oh, thank goodness,” someone exclaimed, and turning his head, Rip found Martin standing a few feet away on his right, leaning against the other bed, a look of relief on his face.

“What...?” Rip began. A hand touched his cheek drawing his head to the left where he met a familiar pair of blue eyes only a few inches from his.

“You good?” Sara asked and Rip realized she was pressed against his back, arms wrapped around his torso.

Still feeling somewhat confused, he nodded.

Slowly, Sara let go and Ray followed suit. Martin carefully adjusted the bed so Rip was able to sit up.

Rip sat there staring at them in disbelief. “You’re alive,” he exclaimed, and then he grimaced and shook his head. “Yes, of course, you are.” 

He could remember now, Sara and Jax appearing in his cell and telling him the truth about what had happened, his confrontation with Chul Kye, but he remembered the rest as well. His memory of the team dying was still there. It was somewhat hazy but it was still there, and his memory of knowing they were dead, of being certain of that fact was very vivid. 

He swallowed convulsively. “Sorry, I guess I’m still a bit muddled.”

“That’s okay,” Sara said, patting his arm. 

“And all together understandable given the circumstances,” added Martin. He gestured to the main diagnostic screen which was currently showing Rip’s vitals. “You’ll be happy to hear Gideon’s removed all the drugs from your system and helped heal your scrapes and bruises so you’ll be making a full recovery. How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Rip replied automatically. He did feel better. His head was certainly a lot clearer than before but he was still worn out and emotionally drained. “So, everyone’s alright?” He felt stupid asking but he needed to know for sure.

Ray pointed at the ceiling. “You heard Gideon.”

“All crew members accounted for and unharmed,” Gideon obediently repeated.

Rip wondered how many times he would need Gideon to tell him that before he really believed it, before the echoes of loss and despair completely disappeared. There seemed to be a disconnect between what his heart and his head were telling him, a contradiction he couldn’t quite resolve, and it didn’t help that his memory was apparently not very reliable.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his three teammates exchanging concerned looks.

Sara took one of his hands in hers. “You do know that none of what that Time Bastard said was true?”

“Yes, of course, I do,” said Rip, frustration leaking into his voice. “I just...” He rubbed his forehead. Images of his dead team flickered through his mind bringing back unwanted emotions. He did his best to shove them away. “It was stupid to have believed him. I knew it had to be a trick. Some of what he said didn’t even make any sense but somehow... He must have done something to my memory, used some sort of cognitive manipulation device or psychic something or other.”

“Actually, he didn’t,” said Ray, gazing at him sadly.

“Then why do I remember...” The blood, the screams, the broken bodies. 

“It was the drugs,” Martin explained.

Rip frowned. He had experience with drugs taking away memories but drugs actually giving memories was something else entirely.

Martin let out a sigh before he continued. “The unfortunate thing,” he said, “is that human memory is a lot more fallible and a lot more malleable than we’d like to believe. The implantation of false memories can easily occur even without the aid of drugs and the ones given to you would have made you especially suggestible. They would have also acted as the opposite of a mood stabilizer making it a lot harder for you to think things through logically.”

“That would explain a few things,” said Rip, recalling his numerous emotional outbursts though he supposed he couldn’t blame those entirely on the drugs.

“All it would have taken was a few suggestions and a little manipulation of the truth for you to believe him and your imagination would have filled in the rest,” said Martin.

“And here we thought you had no imagination,” Sara said with a teasing smile.

Rip couldn’t quite manage to smile back but he squeezed her hand glad she hadn’t let go. Turning back to Martin, he asked, “Does this mean these false memories will go away?”

Martin cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, false memories act just like real ones but they will fade in time like all memories do.”

Rip grimaced. That really wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He didn’t want memories of his dying team haunting him even if he knew they weren’t real. He had enough bad memories to fill his nightmares with as it was. He could take an amnesia pill. It would erase those memories but it would wipe all his memory of recent events as well and he didn’t feel comfortable doing that. He didn’t like the idea of messing with his memory anymore than it already had been and there were some things he felt shouldn’t be forgotten no matter how horrible they might be.

“You okay?” Sara asked and Rip looked up to find the others gazing at him with anxious expressions. Apparently, he’d been lost in thought a bit too long.

“Yes, fine,” said Rip, straightening up. He suddenly felt uncomfortable with all the attention and worry directed at him.“Now that I’m recovered, we really need to get back to the mission. Has Gideon detected any new aberrations?” He shifted his weight and began to swing his legs over the side of the bed so he could get up but Sara stopped him.

“Whoa,” she said as she pushed him back down. “Who said anything about you being recovered?”

“She’s right, Captain,” said Martin. “It would be advisable for you to take it easy for a few days rather than jump back into work straight away.”

“You can’t expect me to just lie back and do nothing,” said Rip, feeling his temper rise. “We’ve already lost too many days as is. Who knows what sort of damage may have occurred to the timeline in the meantime. We have responsibilities.”

“You have a responsibility to take care of yourself,” Sara countered.

“But I’m fine,” Rip insisted. “I’m not some fragile invalid.” He waved a hand at the diagnostic screen. “Like Martin said, Gideon’s taken care of my injuries.”

Martin placed a hand on his shoulder. “You still need time to rest, to process what happened. You’ve been through a very traumatic experience.”

“I’m fine,” Rip said again with exasperation.

“But we want you to be great,” said Ray, giving him a sympathetic smile. “After all, we need you too.”

A awkward silence suddenly fell over the room.

Sara shot Ray a dark look and he winced guiltily. Martin gave a slight cough and looked away.

Rip frowned. There was something odd about the way Ray had said that, something about it that rang a bell. Hadn’t he spoken about needing the team to Kye? But how would Ray know...

“Uh, I should probably go check up on Snart,” said Ray, interrupting Rip’s thoughts, “see if he needs a hand with Mick.” He wiggled his finger in a tiny wave. “See you later, Rip. Glad you’re back.” And he quickly exited the room.

“Yes, I should probably go too,” Martin said giving an awkward smile. “I’ve a feeling Jefferson could use my help. Make sure you get plenty of rest,” he added before he left too.

Confused by their strange behaviour, Rip turned to look at Sara. “Why would Snart need help with Mick?”

Sighing, Sara raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Because Mick didn’t take it very well after...” She trailed off and made a face. “Look, there’s something I need to tell you. I didn’t really want to but it seems only fair you know.”

“Know what?” Rip asked.

“Before we left that prison behind,” Sara said, looking more than a little uncomfortable, “we took a closer look at the stuff there, at the equipment our new Time Master friend was using, and well, we found something, a video.”

“A video?” said Rip, shaking his head in confusion, and then he understood. “Oh.”

“It was a recording of you locked in the cell,” said Sara, confirming his suspicious. “We were worried. You were pretty out of it. We weren’t sure what had been done to you and we wanted to learn more so we, uh, we watched it.”

“Oh,” Rip said again, unsure how to feel about this. “So you saw everything? You heard everything?”

Sara nodded, biting her lip nervously.

“I... uh....” Rip stuttered and then trailed off. He thought about what he’d gone through, what he’d said, what he’d done. "Christ," he exclaimed running a hand through his hair.

He had never been one to feel comfortable openly sharing his emotions with others, of showing signs of weakness. Doing so had always been frowned upon when he was growing up, not to mention potentially dangerous in some places, but Kye had broken through his well constructed defenses leaving him vulnerable and the team had seen everything, his anger, his fear, his despair.

Rip turned away from Sara and gazed down at his lap, no longer able to look her in the eyes.

“Oh no you don’t.” Sara took his chin in her hand and pulled his head back around. “Don’t you dare. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

It was difficult as if a heavy weight were holding them down but Rip managed to raise his eyes to meet hers.

There was no pity in Sara’s eyes, no condemnation or rejection, only unwavering compassion and some good-natured admonishment.

“Do you want to hear how the others reacted to that video?” she said, not letting go of his gaze or his chin. “How Ray cried when you came to our defense and said how much you needed us, how Snart almost hijacked the ship so he could go back and kill that bastard, how Jax couldn’t get through the whole thing and has been obsessively tuning and retuning the engines ever since, how Mick’s managed to set fire to three different things since he watched, or how Martin refused to leave your side until you woke up and he was sure you were okay?”

Speechless, all Rip could do was blink at her.

Sara rolled her eyes. “We care about you too, you idiot,” she said finally letting him go.

For once, the tears that pricked Rip’s eyes weren’t born of grief.

“Well, yes. I, um...” Rip had no clue what to say. He gave a loud sniff and cleared his throat.

Mercifully, Sara didn’t let him embarrass himself any further. “And you’re not fine,” she said. “I may not be an expert in feelings but I know bullshit when I hear it.”

Rip let out a wry chuckle. “I suppose not,” he admitted. The vestiges of despair still clung to him reminding him he still hadn’t quite shaken off what had happened. He didn’t even want to think of the nightmares that would plague his sleep that night. It would be a long time before the images of his dead team faded or he forgot that insidious voice.

A frown crossed Rip’s features as he suddenly remembered something. Kye had said the drug had messed with his memory, that he’d told Rip he’d killed his friends multiple times in multiple different ways. Had that just been another lie among many or was it true?

“There was just the one video?” he asked Sara.

“Just the one,” Sara quickly reassured him, perhaps a tad too quickly.

Rip had a feeling she might be lying but he also had the feeling he’d rather not know if she was. The idea that things had been done to him that he could no longer recall left a cold feeling in his gut and he decided it was best if he not think about it too much.

“You know,” said Sara, changing the subject, “I almost let Snart go through with it, highjacking the ship to go after Kye. Hell, I almost did it myself. There’s more than a few things I’d like to do to that bastard but I knew it wasn’t what you wanted.”

“Thank you,” said Rip, sincerely. “You understand why I couldn’t let you harm him?”

“No, frankly, I don’t. After what that Time Bastard did to you...” Sara trailed off shaking her head. “Is it just me or are all Time Masters other than you psychopaths? I mean I heard Captain Baxter wasn’t that bad but Kye, Druce, the Hunters, the Pilgrim, that Declan guy.”

“That’s the thing, Sara,” said Rip, his voice filled with regret, “they weren’t.”

His life before everything had fallen apart, his time at the Refuge, at the Academy, all those times he’d visited the Vanishing Point between missions, had been filled with people who happened to be Time Masters, and it was a life he’d been quite happy with before he’d learned it had also been filled with lies and manipulation. Sometimes he wondered whether he’d ever be able to fully come to terms with that. 

“You might not believe it," he said, "but I’ve known Time Masters who were kind and caring, brave and selfless, eccentric and ridiculous. Miranda herself was a Time Master before she was forced to leave.” There weren’t any among the Time Masters, aside from Miranda and Druce, that he would have called close friends but there were ones he'd been fairly fond of once upon a time. “We might have been an overly disciplined, hard-nosed lot stuck in our ways but we were trained to be like that, and I admit upon reflection the upbringing and lifestyle of a Time Master might not be the most conducive to good mental health.”

“You don’t say,” Sara interjected wryly.

“But a lot of good people came out of the Academy, people who would have been completely ignorant of the machinations of the High Council, and I...” Rip let out a weary sigh. “I betrayed them.”

“They betrayed you first,” Sara pointed out.

“The Council did,” Rip corrected her. “The rest...” He shook his head. “They didn’t deserve to have their lives taken from them.” He might have told Kye he wasn't sorry for what he had done but there had always been doubts and regrets concerning what had happened at the Vanishing Point and this incident had helped multiply them tenfold.

Folding her arms across her chest, Sara leaned back and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Look at it this way. Those Time Masters were soldiers on the other side of a war. They might have been just following orders but soldiers die in war. That’s the sad fact of the matter and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Rip scoffed. “Since when did our fight against the Time Masters become a war?”

“Since the Council made it one,” said Sara, sternly. “Don’t blame yourself for what you were forced to do. Blame the Council for putting you in that situation.”

“So you’re saying the choice I made to destroy the Vanishing Point was a good one?” Rip gazed up at her, eyes pleading like a penitent seeking absolution. “Even though all those people died?”

Sara rested a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes there isn’t a good choice, just a right one and a wrong one, and trust me, you made the right one.”

Rip hung his head. “I wish I could believe that.”

“Nothing’s going to change your mind is it?” Sara let out a huff of air. “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t be the same idiot I know and love if it didn’t bother you at least a little,” she said, smiling fondly at him. “Just try not to beat yourself up about it so much. It’s not your fault Kye turned into a sadistic torture maniac. That’s all on him.”

Was it? Rip would never know for sure what sort of person Kye might have been if Rip hadn’t taken the things he loved from him. All Rip knew was he never wanted to see, and especially hear, that Time Master ever again.

“I should probably go check on the others,” said Sara. “You know what they’re like. They’ve probably managed to bury the galley in whipped cream or opened an interdimensional hole in the bathroom by now.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Rip, the corner of his lip curling up in amusement. It was true. He wouldn’t be surprised, and frankly, he wouldn’t have even minded. They could incite a battle with a giant space whale or turn all the chairs on the bridge into tapioca pudding for all he cared. It was doubtful the sentiment would last, but at the moment, he was just glad they were still alive to keep adding chaos to his life.

Sara leaned over and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Get some rest,” she said. “I mean it. Ray was right, you know. We need you too.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll take it easy,” said Rip, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Sara said, pointing a finger at him. Giving a smirk, she turned to leave. “And you know what’ll happen if you don’t,” she called out behind her.

Rip watched as she strode out the door leaving him alone in the medbay. Once she was gone, the room seemed a lot quieter and a lot emptier much too like the dark, gloomy cell he’d woken up in not so long ago. For a moment, he swore he could smell the dank odour of damp cement and hear a mocking voice echoing off the walls.

“Gideon,” Rip called out.

“Yes, Captain?” the A.I. replied.

“Status on the team?”

“All crew members are accounted for and unharmed,” said Gideon as she had before, and then unbidden she added, “Professor Stein has convinced Mr. Jackson to take a break from his work in the engine room and the two are currently in the galley having a disagreement over what to eat for lunch. Mr. Snart and Mr. Rory are in the cargo bay playing some type of game. It appears to involve several empty beer bottles and the throwing of knives. Dr. Palmer is attempting to supervise as they are both fairly inebriated. Miss Lance is currently heading in that direction. Hopefully, she will be able to aid him before the medbay is required once more.”

A soft smile broke across Rip’s face. “Hopefully,” he said. “Perhaps it would be best to prep the second bed just in case.”

"Already done," said Gideon. 

The smile faded as Rip grew serious once more. “You will look after them, won’t you?” he said, earnestly. “If anything were to happen to me.”

There was a slight pause before the A.I. replied. “Of course, Captain,” she said. “ _If_ anything were to happen to you.” The last statement was emphasized with the implication he should do his best to make sure nothing ever did. 

“Thank you, Gideon,” said Rip, the knot of anxiety in his chest easing somewhat.

Lying back against the medbay bed, he took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

They were alive, he told himself holding onto that thought as if it were his last light in the darkness.

They were alive.

They were alive.

They were alive and he vowed to do everything in his power to make sure they stayed that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos and comments. They always make my day and help give me the courage I need to keep writing.


End file.
